An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Be gentle  a soft touch  can do so much  more than a harsh one.  But such is mistaken  not as strength  but as weakness  in a world of false power  They say we need  to toughen ourselves  to survive through life  no indulgences  So soft rain  on our cheek  feels like the lash  of pure scorn. The wind smashes through the rigid buildings of the mind while the plum blossoms bend and survive the hurricane.

Inspired by a #MPPrompt on Bluesky (Thanks, Malachy!) I guess poetry  doesn't have to rhyme?  So all I have to do  is just break up  lines  just like  this  word salad  indubitably  unerringly  without a doubt  my heartburn  sounds so smart  the cows  ate dad's keys anyone can do it, it's easy But hey  no one says  it has to make sense  right?

Tucked away  in buried grovefolds where ash and oak trees  used to grow in the wild  the bones of the old ones  the druids and the wise women  who knew this ancient land  sleep calm and undisturbed  no stones to mark them  only flowers for pillows their blood still runs through the loamy soil the birds sing their songs because nature still remembers

Pressure on my shoulders  I cannot breathe as  the gravity of life  crushes my will  and causes my bones  to crack in tiny places  this is not only encouraged it is accepted as the way it has always been they teach me a trick  to accept the burden  and carry it lightly  for the willow bends  and does not break even as gale-force winds rip the ground away all around it.

What do you do when you realize you're not enjoying  what  you do? I love to write. I've been writing since I was eight years old. Words gave me a way to express how I felt as a girl who was leaving friends behind. Forty-four years later, I still put my thoughts on paper or the screen. It's more than just a way of life. It  is  my life. I post my writing on my social media accounts. I have poetry blogs on Blogger and Wordpress. Over the years, I've met so many good friends and fellow writers through sharing my words. I appreciate every one who I've met. The support we give each other has carried me through some dark times of my life. For those who don't know, two of my three children are high-support autistic. Terminology and descriptors have changed in two decades, but my kids are unique in their own special ways. Although I love them, their care can be complicated and stressful, especially without outside help. That stress as a caregiver can bleed into other a...

Build a bridge over the crevasse  between us  Every attempt  the bricks too brittle  the mortar falls apart  The iron rusts quickly  the foundation crumbles  the joints wear away  Renovation plans hastily made all fail in their complexity Sometimes it takes a simple bamboo path  to span this gap